


when is a monster (what have you done)

by The_narwhals_awaken



Series: The Cryptid Files [3]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Psychological Horror, Stream of Consciousness, and see what it's become, see what you have made, see what you've caused, this is just based on too many weird fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_narwhals_awaken/pseuds/The_narwhals_awaken
Summary: "how many of these will we have to pass through""thirteenfifteen.  the ones you haven't done yet""what is the question they will askanswer""you know better than to ask that"
Series: The Cryptid Files [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981387
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	when is a monster (what have you done)

the two entered the antechamber and stood, quietly. there was nobody there, and nothing to fill the room. the room was smallbigmedium. it was big enough that they felt small and small enough that they felt cramped and in-between enough that they had room to stand apart. regardless, they shifted, standing closer together- although to comfort or to defend themselves, neither would admit or know. 

the figure stood there. 

"so you have come again. knowing the costs"

"yes"

"and you are willing to pay them"

"yes"

"then come this way"

the figure walked off, through a door that was not quite a door. the two followed. they made their way to a cart. the two sat, side by side on the seat. the figure sat at the front. facing themawaytheside. neither was quite certain. neither dared to look closer. 

"how many of these will we have to pass through" 

"thirteenfifteen. the ones you haven't done yet"

"what is the question they will askanswer"

"you know better than to ask that"

the cart moved off. the room disappeared, and blackness surrounded them. soon enough, light shifted, and the two could make out that they were passing through a tunnel. 

"how long will this take"

"it will take as long as it needs to take"

they were silent again.

they entered a room. there was a plinth in the middle, and on the plinth sat a man. he was very, very old, with white hair slicked back. he was propped up against a sort of backrest, for he looked as if he'd fall over if he tried to stand upright. his face was covered with wrinkles, and he seemed like a man who didn't smile as much as he'd have liked to. 

"when is it acceptable to interfere?" the man asked. around him, the walls flashed with images- there for only a split second, and much was lost. running away from a shadowed figure, light glinting off a sharpened blade. keys, perched atop a doorway. a rock, descending. a woman, standing clothed in ancient finery. a small teen, smiling up at a beloved mentor. 

the cart moved on. it was a long time and only a few seconds later that the cart entered a second room.

there was another plinth. a man was bound to a chair, and there was a cube in front of his face. he had a bowl cut, and his clothes seemed not quite to fit. his fingers flexed, as if reaching for something that they could not reach. 

"at what point is it doing more harm to let the meddlers go free" he asked. the walls flashed with faces, people laughing, then being taken and dumped like old toys- approximately where they should go, but not caring if they made it. 

he seemed to stare at them, not truly judging, but eternally patient. after all, he had time. 

the cart moved on again. the ground rocked. the cart was a boat. the water was still, but somewhat choppy. 

there was a third room. on the plinth, a man lay. there was a layer of glass between him and the boat, and a small machine let out fast-paced, quiet beeps. he seemed to have light burns tracing out of his frilly shirt and through his graying hair. 

"if you cut out the part that makes them belong, what makes you think that they'd return?" 

the room seemed to echo with emptiness, like they were missing something critical to their view of the world. the man stared them down. he seemed to be more distant and yet more present. the two shivered. 

the water was getting choppier. they moved into a fourth room. 

the man here was lanky, tall, with a multicolored scarf wrapped around his neck. he was lying on his back, and his head was dangling at nearly a right angle- the neck was clearly shattered. and yet, he turned his head slightly and half-smiled. his eyes were very big. 

"why should power be given to any who ask for it?"

he smiled fully. there were too many teeth. they moved on.

now the water was rushing, churning, making the two cling to the boat. not each other, not yet. millennia of propriety and concealment had formed that habit. 

they entered the fifth room. the man here was blond, with his hair always that bit overly shaggy. he looked at them, more parental than their actual parents. more parental than they had been. peeking out of his sleeves, crawling out of his trouser legs, climbing up above his collar, rashes and blisters and boils. his eyes never quite focused, fever-bright, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow.

"how much pain is too much for one person?"

for threefourfive seconds, time froze. they hung in the abyss. five. out of thirteenfourteenfifteen. and it was already this bad. they had a long road to go. 

the boat moved on. it was a cart again, and the ground was so smooth, they couldn't hear the turn of the wheels. the two had let go of the sides and shifted closer to each other. 

they entered the next room. the man had wild, curly hair; a coat that looked pieced together out of a colorblind fashionista's nightmare on lsd; and a two-inch hole through his chest, neatly smoking and cauterized. 

"if you never showed care for them, why should they show care for you?"

the smoke rose faster, higher, filling the room. when they made it out, the two were sitting slightly too close, not fully touching, but a mistimed breath would have them tipping over the edge.

they moved on. 

the seventh man had dark hair, an ugly question-mark jumper, and seven bullet holes in and around his sternum. 

"when will you stop telling these lies?"

he shook his head and sat back, the blood continuing to drip from the mess on his chest. the taller one of the two laid his hand on the other's thigh. 

the floor squeaked. the floor was shiny with liquid. neither looked too close.

the eighth man sat, leaning up against the back wall of the room. he stared into them, like he knew them, like he was looking through their lives and he didn't like what he saw. his hair was cut short. his eyes were tired. his clothes, once possibly fine, were now torn and covered in soot and blood. 

"what do you fight for? where do you stand?"

he continued staring. the shorter one put his hand on top of the taller one's.

~~there was a man in the next room, hauntingly familiar. he looked at them, battered and worn from a war not his own and breaking too many promises to count.~~

~~"what promises will you cling to, when all others you must break?"~~

~~they moved on quickly, neither of them willing to look him in the eye.~~

the ninth man sat, peeling and burning to pieces. close-cropped hair and a leather jacket betraying the battles he'd fought. 

"is it better to survive the fight or win it?"

he looked at them, raising his chin, as a wisp of golden light seeped out and burned and healed and wound its way back into his eyes. 

they moved on, the two now pressed together, shaking slightly. 

the tenth man wasn't much better. two of him stood, one on either side of the room. the one on the left was burning to ashes. the one on the right was leaning against the wall, protected by glass and with yet another of the beeping machines. this one was ticking faster, harder. he had scrapes and scratches all down his face and both were glaring. 

"what are you so afraid of wanting that you'll lose it forever" the one on the left asked, while the one on the right asked, "what would you become if there was nothing to hold you back?"

they both glared, even as the one on the left continued to burn. 

the cart kept moving. the two were now tightly together, an arm around a shoulder around a waist, the darkness of the in-between hiding them from even their own fears. 

the eleventh man was old. old far beyond what anyone got anymore, whether because they regenerated or because they got taken care of. he looked at them and in his eyes was something ancient and terrible, older than even the age his face showed. he had on a bow tie. 

"at what point do you stop moving, stop running, and ask 'why do i do this' before you've gotten too far to ever go back?" 

he sighed, and sat back, unable to stay awake for long. 

they kept moving. the taller one was shaking badly, while the shorter one was rubbing circles into their back. there should only be two left, but neither were sure they'd make it. 

the twelfth man was old again, but more comfortably. he had an inch-round burn mark on his band t-shirt, and when he spoke, he was undeniably scottish.

"by what standards will you be judged? by your own, or by the ones you try to live by?"

he seemed as if he knew them, knew them better than they knew themselves. 

they moved on. now both were shaking, neither bothering to suppress it in the dark with nobody else to see them fall apart with each judging question and each near-corpse that asked them. 

the last man was two people at once. one, a short blonde woman in a rainbow shirt and flappy coat. she was smiling, even though she wasn't happy. she was also the only one there who was not a corpse. two, a medium-tall redhead, a very familiar redhead, who simply stared at them, longing and anger and exhaustion and fury and forgiveness and just that little hint of something _other._

"what will you do when your secrets come to light, old friends? what will you do when they find out what you've been hiding?"

the cart rolled on. the two had nearly broken at seeing their old friend and their latest face, so _alive_ and _hurting_ that it seemed to drive nails into their hearts. 

the cart rolled to a stop. 

"one and only stop. off you go, and remember, the fare is paid in exit and in entry". 

they got off, pulling their masks around them. there was work to be done. but when they would leave, the masks would fall. for they would have to answer the questions. have to look their old friend in the face as they died, again and again and again, always partly their fault because they had done this. but until then, there was work to be done. the eye of harmony needed recalibrating, and who better to do it then the ones who had brought it up in the first place?

**Author's Note:**

> ... yeah.
> 
> So, that's a thing I just wrote. Hope you enjoyed?
> 
> Comment and tell me what you think!


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